


Our Thing

by PrintDust



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrintDust/pseuds/PrintDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lori laughs, a puff of hot breath against his bare shoulder, where she presses a kiss. "Sit tight," she gives him a quick squeeze and pushes him lightly in the direction of the table. "Pancakes are almost up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Thing

His back is aching, he can feel it before he is really even awake. Still caught up in the fine tendrils of his dream, he rolls over and buries his face in Lori's pillow, inhaling the smell of her shampoo. Her side of the bed is cool, which is a blessing in the height of summer and their air conditioner hasn't worked since they took possession of the house.

He can hear her in the kitchen on the other side of the small hallway that separates the bedrooms from the main living area of their small starter home. She has the radio on, some low tune that barely tickles his ears. The house smells amazing, though he isn't sure exactly what she is making. Brow pinched, he lifts his head up from her pillow and inhales the scented air. Pancakes, he decides, mixed with the lingering scent of paint.

Pushing himself up, he crawls across the mattress and onto the floor before he gets to his feet, running a hand through his hair as he inspects their partially assembled bedroom. Stretching out the kinks in his back with a wince, he decides he will put the bed together today; if his spine is this sore he can't imagine what she is feeling.

As he enters the kitchen she seems to be feeling no pain she sorts through a box of silverware, her hips moving to an instrumental number he can't place. She has purloined a pair of his boxers again and one of her brother's college shirts. His eyes fall on the gentle curve of her belly and he feels himself smile. She looks up and offers him a lopsided grin as he enters the room, her eyes falling on the his hand that he is using to knead his spine.

"I told you the bed should have been done last week," she says softly, placing a handful of knives into a cutlery tray. She approaches him with a look of sympathy and motions from him to turn around.

"Yeah, yeah," he agrees, doing as he is told. He groans as her fingers sink into the muscle that has been nagging him. "Sweet, Jesus."

Lori laughs, a puff of hot breath against his bare shoulder, where she presses a kiss. "Sit tight," she gives him a quick squeeze and pushes him lightly in the direction of the table. "Pancakes are almost up."

"Pancakes?" he asks, sitting down at the table. For the couple who'd been eating out of cans and cereal boxes for weeks, he was surprised by her declaration. "What's the special occasion?"

Lifting the pan, she shrugs with one shoulder and flashes him a small smile. "Baby wanted them somethin' fierce. I think he was hoping for Mom's but mine will have to do on short notice."

Grunting in agreement he reaches for the Sunday paper and skims the front page. Nothing too awful seemed to have happened on his day off yesterday. He hoped today would be quiet too; he really couldn't afford to get called in with Lori's growing 'Honey-do list'.

"They're up," she announces several minutes later, approaching him with a plate in one hand and a mug in the other. He accepts the mug first and sips his coffee, wincing as the bitter liquid scalds his tongue.

Lori places his plate before him, "More sugar?" she asks, running her fingers through his hair for a moment. When he grunts, she nods and moves around the table to collect the sugar bowl and some cutlery from her tray she'd been sorting. "I was thinking we could do some work in our room today. I'd give my first born to sleep in a real bed tonight," she suggests lightly.

His eyes settle on her belly again and he reaches out to snag her shirt, reining her in. "You hear that, little man? She'd give you up that easy," he tells their son, smoothing his hand over her bump. "You remember that on father's day." He ducks as she swipes at his head, laughing at the playful scowl on her face.

"Eat your breakfast," she orders, removing his hand from the curve of her belly and heads back over to the stove where her own breakfast is still warming in the pan.

Turning to his plate, he inspects the pancakes before him, nodding his head in approval. They look good enough, so he cuts into them and takes a bite. The first thing he notices is the taste of salt, and then a crunch. Surprised, he gags and spits the contents of his mouth onto his palm where he is greeted by a shard of eggshell. Looking between his wife and the partially chewed pancake on this palm he winces.

"Everything alright?" she asks, turning around.

Quickly concealing his hand under the table he nods, wincing as he fists his hand. "Did you, uh… happen to use a particular recipe?" he finds himself asking, reaching for the syrup in hopes of smothering the salt.

Nodding, Lori lowers herself onto the seat beside him, settling against the back of her chair with a tired sigh. "Mhm," she reaches for the syrup and pours some over her own breakfast. "Mom's, why?"

"Just curious," he watches carefully as she takes a forkful of doughy pancake and chews slowly.

"Hm," she slides further down in her seat, smoothing her hand over her belly. "Just what we wanted."

Looking at her, he can't help but feel incredulous as he wonders if they're even eating the same meal. When her eyes flutter close on her next bite he shakes his head, deciding it must be her wacky pregnancy taste buds.

Turning to his own plate he is careful as he pulls apart his next bite, checking for any stray shells.

"I was thinking," Lori's voice drifts over to him, and he looks up to find her warm mossy eyes almost shining. When he clears his throat, she accepts it as a sign to continue, her foot finding his lap under the table. "Maybe this should be out Sunday family thing - Pancake breakfast."

He wants to tell her that make pancakes aren't her thing, but instead, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her mouth has turned up into an almost dreamy smile, forming a small dimple low on her cheek. Using his pants as a napkin, he wipes off his palm and then catches her ankle. "I think that sounds great," he assures her, resigning himself to the rest of his meal.

"It's going to be," Lori agrees, turning back to her own plate. "I can't wait."


End file.
